The Instant Your Life Changes For Good (or Bad)
by jneill7677
Summary: A look into the lives of Team One during the final year of Greg's career before his retirement from the SRU. A prequel to Crossing the Border.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but original ideas, blah, blah, blah.**

_I don't know what I'm going to do, Eddie._

_He'll be all right, Dean. He just has to be._

_But what will I do if he's not? I can't lose him again!_

The voices drifted out of the dark into Greg Parker's consciousness as if from a far distance. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was hearing. He recognized his son's and his best friend's voices, and he tried to speak to them, to ask Dean who he was going to lose, but he found that he couldn't. He then tried to open his eyes to see what was going on, but he couldn't do that, either. It was as if his brain no longer controlled his body. He began to wonder what was happening to him when he felt a hand slip into his, and he heard Dean speak again, but this time, it was to him, not Eddie.

_Dad, please wake up. Please. I need you. Please don't leave me again._

Greg could hear the tears in Dean's voice, and he felt his heart break, but he didn't understand why he would be saying those words. He would never leave his son again. He had worked too hard to get him back into his life to ever do that. Wake up? Was he sleeping? Is that why he couldn't move? Perhaps he was asleep, and he was just dreaming that Dean and Eddie were speaking. But did you wonder about whether you are dreaming while you are dreaming? These questions swirled in Greg's brain until he finally decided that he was dreaming, and then he decided that he didn't like this dream, and that he would just have to wake up.

* * *

Dean Parker sat by the side of his father's hospital bed, clinging tightly to Greg's limp hand. He had barely moved from that spot in the four days since Greg was wheeled into Intensive Care, refusing to leave in case he woke up. There had been no indication of that happening, however, and, no matter how hard he tried to stay positive, he was beginning to lose hope that his father would ever wake up again.

He looked at the man lying in the bed, tears forming in his eyes as he gazed on the most important person in his life. Greg was hooked up to a ventilator that was helping him breathe while his punctured lung healed. An ECG machine monitored his heart, which had stopped twice on the operating table. His brain waves were tracked by an EEG machine. He had an IV going into his arm and a pulse oximeter on his finger. His chest was bandaged as well as his left leg. His leg was also encased in a metal immobilizer from hip to heel and was in a sling to keep pressure off the external wounds on his thigh. His skin was pale, and there were dark circles under his closed eyes. To see his father, a strong, healthy man, reduced to this shell surrounded by tubes and wires and swathed in blood-tinged bandages, broke his heart and his spirit.

Dean turned his head toward the chair by the door. Ed Lane sat there, head in hands, and Dean could see the tension in his entire body. Ed was not known for showing his emotions, and Dean knew that he was doing his best to rein them in now.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Eddie," he said raggedly, the tears beginning to escape the confines of his eyes.

Ed looked up at the boy in front of him. Dean was trying so hard to be brave, but Ed knew that he could not handle much more. "He'll be all right, Dean. He just has to be." He tried to be reassuring, but he was beginning to lose hope himself. Greg hadn't moved in four days, and although his doctors said that all of his vital signs were good, Ed was afraid that he wouldn't ever come out of the coma.

"But what will I do if he's not?" Dean responded, and the anguish in his voice tore at Ed's heart. "I can't lose him again!"

Dean dropped his head onto their joined hands, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Dad, please wake up. Please. I need you. Please don't leave me again."

Ed stood up and walked behind Dean. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and felt his body shake as the sobs began again. He knelt on the floor next to Dean's chair and wrapped his arms around him. It was familiar position for both of them, and as he held Dean, Ed's mind went back to that moment when he thought he had lost Greg.

* * *

_Ed knelt on the metal catwalk, holding his best friend and Sergeant, watching him slowly bleed to death. He screamed for the medics, and they got to Greg quickly, but not nearly quickly enough in Ed's mind. By the time they got him into the ambulance, he was unconscious, and his breathing was shallow. The EMTs diagnosed a punctured lung, and one of them immediately put in a chest tube to release the excess air and blood that was being pumped into Greg's chest cavity. This improved his breathing dramatically, but he still did not regain consciousness._

_Ed rode in the ambulance with Greg, and when they got to the hospital, and Greg was whisked into surgery, he went straight to the admitting desk to find out about his son, Clark. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding when the nurse told him that Clark was going to be fine; he had a broken leg, three broken ribs, a broken wrist, and a concussion. On his way to his son's room, he pulled out his phone and called Sophie. He told her about Clark, and she said she'd be at the hospital as soon as she could find someone to watch Izzy. Because of the chaos in the city, it had taken her an hour and a half to drive the fifteen kilometers from their house to the hospital._

_When she finally arrived, she saw Eddie outside of Clark's room. He explained that the doctors were just checking on him, and that they would be able to go in shortly. She looked up at him and touched his cheek, and then he gathered her in his arms and cried. He cried for the son he had almost lost, for the friends he had lost, and for the Sergeant he could still lose. He sobbed until his legs could no longer support him, and then he collapsed on the floor of the hallway, still clinging to his wife. Sophie held him tightly and cried as well, but it was more for the agony he was going through than anything else. She had already cried tears of worry and then relief over Clark, and now she cried for her husband._

_When the sobs quieted, he looked at Sophie and whispered, "Greg can't die, Soph! I can't lose him! We can't lose him!"_

_She hugged him tightly and responded, "I know, Eddie, I know." She wanted to tell him everything would be all right, that Greg was strong and would pull through, but after Eddie told her what had happened, she wasn't sure she believed it. She knew that Eddie needed information, though, not wild imagination, and she softly said, "Eddie, you need to go to him. Find out what's happening."_

_Astonishment showed clearly on his face. "But what about Clark? I can't leave him."_

_She patted his cheek and smiled. "He'll be fine, and I'll be with him. I'll call you if anything changes. Now go, be there for Greg."_

_He pulled her to him and kissed her passionately before standing and striding down the hallway, back straight and steps purposeful._

_When he got to the ER, he immediately spotted the rest of his team, still in their distinctive gray and black uniforms, although they were now bloodied, dusty, and torn. None of them had even removed their vests, and Ed realized that he hadn't either. Leah was standing at the windows, looking out at the turmoil still reigning outside. Sam and Jules were seated on chairs, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. Her leg stuck out straight in front of her, and Ed could see that it had been tended to. Spike and Winnie were next to them, and Ed was only slightly surprised to see that their hands were entwined. Spike's eyes were trained on the floor, and Winnie's were fixed on Spike. Marina was standing with Dean, her arms around him, holding him as he cried. Sam was the first to notice Ed, and he rose slowly to his feet._

_"Ed, how's Clark?" he asked._

_At the question, the others looked in Ed's direction, and they started to move, but he motioned for them to stay where they were. "He's going to be just fine," he said. "He's got a number of broken bones and a concussion, but nothing too serious. Sophie's with him now."_

_Sam sat back down and nodded. "That's good to hear."_

_No one else spoke, and Ed could see the exhaustion in all of their faces. He took a deep breath and then asked softly, "How's Greg?"_

_Sam sighed and closed his eyes. "He's still in surgery; that's all we know."_

_Ed turned when he heard a strangled cry come from Dean, and he quickly strode to him and pulled him into his arms. "It'll be okay, Dean," he whispered as the boy sobbed into his chest. "I won't leave you." He reached out one arm and gathered Marina to him as well._

_"Oh, Eddie," she whispered, "tell me he's going to be okay...please?"_

_The last word was said so forlornly that Ed caught his breath. "I wish I could," he answered her just as softly._

_Greg's surgery took hours, and everyone except Dean and Ed were dozing in chairs when Doctor Clark came out to let Dean know that he was in Recovery. Everyone came awake quickly when they heard the doctor speaking to him._

_"The anesthetic hasn't worn off yet," she warned him, "but you can see him if you make it quick."_

_"Can Mr. Lane come with me?" Dean asked, his voice scared and child-like._

_The doctor looked at Ed in his uniform and quickly deduced that he was probably a member of the fallen Sergeant's team. She nodded her head and led the two of them to Greg's recovery room. He was sharing it with two other patients, both of whom looked to be sleeping._

_Dean burst into tears again at the sight of his father in that hospital bed, eyes closed, ventilator tube inserted, face pale against the stark white sheets, bandages, tubes,and wires already in place. The machine next to his bed beeped a steady rhythm as it monitored his vital signs._

_Doctor Clark began to explain his injuries as Ed put his hand around Dean's shoulder and pulled him close. "The bullet that entered Sergeant Parker's chest punctured his right lung and nicked the pulmonary artery before stopping near his heart. His heart stopped twice during the operation, but we were able to restart it both times, remove the bullet, and repair the artery and the lung. The one that hit his leg shattered his femur. It did a lot of damage, but we managed to save his leg, although only time will tell how much mobility he regains in that leg. We had to repair the bone with metal plates, and we can't tell yet how that will affect his ability to move it. He is still in critical condition, and right now, we are in a "wait and see" phase. He lost a lot of blood before we got to him, and there is still the possibility that he will not regain consciousness."_

_Dean sobbed into Ed's chest at these words, and Ed had to do sniper breathing to keep himself from falling apart, too. He managed to keep his emotions in control, and after he thanked the doctor, she left. He and Dean stood there for a long moment, hardly able to believe what they had just heard, and then Dean pulled from Ed's arms and sat in the chair beside his father's bed, grasping his hand and staring at him, tears still streaming down his face._

_"Dean, I'm going to go let everyone else know what's going on, okay?" Ed said softly._

_The only response was a slight nod, and Ed left the room to return to the waiting room. When he told the others the news, fresh tears were shed by everyone. As soon as they all realized that it could be a while before they knew anything else, everybody except Ed and Marina said their goodbyes, and, after tearful hugs all around, left for their respective homes with the promise that Ed would call as soon as he knew anything._

_Ed took Marina back to Greg's room after checking with the nurses to make sure it was okay, and she immediately pulled up a chair to the side of the bed opposite Dean and took Greg's other hand. The sight of the two of them looking despondently at the man they all loved tore at Ed's heart. He swallowed his tears and said quietly, "Dean, Marina, I'm going to go back to Clark for a while, all right?"_

_Marina looked up at him, but Dean did not move. "Of course, Eddie, go to your son. Please tell him I'm glad he's okay."_

_"I will, thank you," Ed responded, and he walked out of the room, his steps dragging._

_When he got back to his son's room, Clark was awake, sitting up, and talking softly with Sophie, trying not to disturb the other occupants of the room he was sharing with three other patients. His chest was tightly wrapped, and there were casts on his right arm and leg. They both looked at him when he leaned against the door frame and ran his hand over his head._

_"Eddie," Sophie said, standing up and walking to him, "how is he?"_

_He opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat when he tried to answer, and he only shook his head. When Sophie's eyes went wide, and she sucked in a breath, and Clark's eyes filled with tears, however, he found his voice._

_"He's still alive," he managed, and the other two breathed sighs of relief, "but he's still unconscious. The doctor said he may not wake up." That was all he could say before he choked on the words as tears streamed down his face. Sophie quickly pulled him into her arms and held him, saying nothing. When he calmed down, she took his face in her hands._

_"Eddie," she said, "you look like you're about to fall asleep on your feet." She looked at Clark and said, "Clark, is it all right with you if I take your dad home to clean up and sleep?"_

_"Of course, Mom," Clark responded. "I'm sure I'll be going to sleep soon, too." He turned his eyes to his father. "Go home, Dad. Get some rest."_

_"Are you sure, buddy?" Ed asked. "I'll be fine here if you want me to stay."_

_Clark nodded. "I'm sure, Dad."_

_"Okay," Ed said, feeling the stress and horror of the day seeping into his bones. He crossed to his son and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. I love you, son."_

_"I love you, too, Dad."_

_The chaos in the city had died down somewhat, and it only took the Lanes forty-five minutes to get home. As Ed started to strip his uniform in the bathroom, for the first time, he realized that he was covered in Greg's blood. That knowledge caused his chest to tighten, but it seemed that he was all cried out, and he left his gear in a heap on the floor. After locking up his gun, he fell into bed beside Sophie and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.  
_

_The next day, Ed had to go through the motions with SIU, but that's all they were - motions. He had brought his weapon and uniform with him to the meeting, and no one mentioned the fact that he hadn't turned them over immediately after the shooting._

_Clark was released the same day, and since Sophie and Clark both agreed that Dean shouldn't be at the hospital alone, Ed had spent much of his time with him. Marina had had to go back to work the day after the bombings, and Team One was off rotation indefinitely, so Ed spent many hours with Dean, holding him when he cried and helping him hold onto the hope that Greg would make it through._

_Dean hadn't left the hospital since Greg was brought in. He had adamantly refused to leave, and the doctors had allowed him to use their locker room to clean up when necessary. The nurses took turns feeding him. They all knew who his father was, and what he had done for the city, and they all supported Dean's decision to stay._

* * *

Dean was dozing with his father's hand in his, and Ed had moved back to the chair. Suddenly, Dean's head snapped up, and he looked at Greg.

"What is it, Dean?" Ed said, hastily standing.

"I...I'm not sure," the boy responded, his brow crinkling. "I thought..."

"Thought what?" Ed said, laying his hand on Dean's back.

Dean simply shook his head and searched Greg's face. When he saw nothing new, he sighed, "I thought I felt him move. It must have been a dream." He dropped his head and stared at their joined hands. He was about to lay his head back on the bed when he saw his father's fingers curl around his own and felt him squeeze. A smile stretched across his face, and he cried, "Eddie! He did move! He squeezed my hand!"

Ed moved to the other side of the bed, took Greg's other hand, and peered down at his friend. "Greg?" he breathed. "Can you hear me?"

The two stared at Greg's face, and they smiled in delight when his eyelids fluttered. They held their breath as he struggled to open them fully, and when he did, both of them let it out with a rush.

"Dad!" Dean couldn't contain his glee at this turn of events.

Greg's eyes flew back and forth between Ed and Dean, and he gripped their hands tightly. Ed saw panic beginning to build in his friend, and he swiftly put his free hand on Greg's shoulder and spoke softly.

"It's okay, buddy. Don't try to speak. You've got a tube down your throat. Do you understand me?"

The pressure on their hands lessened, and Greg slowly nodded.

"Good," Ed continued, and then he turned to Dean. "Dean, stay right here, and I'll go get a doctor, okay?"

Dean simply nodded, the grin on his face never lessening. He saw Greg's brows furrow in confusion and the questions in his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. He was completely overwhelmed with the fact that his father was awake, so he simply patted Greg's hand and smiled.

It was only a few moments before Ed returned with Greg's doctor and a nurse in blue scrubs.

"Excuse me, Dean," Doctor Clark said. "We need to check on him."

Ed practically dragged Dean away, and they stood in the doorway as the doctor checked Greg's vital signs and asked him a few questions to check his alertness and understanding. When she was satisfied with her inspection, Doctor Clark said, "Greg, I'm going to disconnect the ventilator, but the tube has to remain in until we're sure you can breathe on your own. You still won't be able to speak, so don't try. Do you understand?"

Greg's eyebrows came together in frustration, but he nodded. The nurse turned to the machine and flipped the power switch before disconnecting the tube from the suddenly seemed much quieter in the room without the constant noise of the ventilator. The doctor took out her stethoscope and listened to Greg's chest. She seemed satisfied with what she heard because she stood up, nodded her head, and smiled.

"Your lungs sound good right now, and your oxygen saturation level is good," she said, "but we need to make sure it stays that way. If you're still doing well in an hour, I'll remove the tube, all right?

Greg rolled his eyes, but he nodded again, and the doctor turned to the two people standing in the doorway.

"Everything is looking just fine," she assured them. "I'll be back in an hour to check on him."

"Thank you, Doctor Clark," Dean said, laying his hand on her arm.

The doctor had become very fond of this young man over the past four days, and she smiled. "You are more than welcome, Dean." She then shook Ed's hand, and she and the nurse left the room.

"Dean, I'm going to call the others and let them know what's happened, okay?"

Dean had immediately returned to his father's side and taken his hand again. He merely nodded his head when Eddie spoke, never taking his eyes off Greg's face. As Ed left the room, however, Greg pulled his hand from Dean's and made a writing motion. Dean looked around the room and then pulled out the drawer of the bedside table. There was a notepad and pencil in the drawer, and Dean gave them to Greg.

_What happened?_ Greg scribbled on the pad.

Dean frowned. "You don't remember?"

Greg paused and then wrote again. _Bomb. Marcus Faber. I was shot._

"That's right," Dean answered. "You were hit twice."

Greg shook his head. _Three times. Once in the vest.__  
_

"Right," Dean chuckled. "I forgot about that one."

Greg was now the one to frown. _Then what?_

Dean held his breath, wondering how much to tell his dad. He didn't want to upset him so soon after waking up. He was still wondering when Greg started writing again.

_Tell me, Dean. Everything._

The look in Greg's eye brooked no objection, and so Dean did as he asked and told him everything that had happened from the moment Eddie shot Faber to when Greg opened his eyes. When he was done, there was a look of intense concentration on Greg's face. He looked down at his leg suspended in the sling.

_My leg? How bad?_

"We don't know yet," Dean explained carefully. "The doctor said we won't know until you start trying to move it. I don't know when that will be."

Greg frowned again, and was about to write something else when Ed reentered the room, a huge smile on his face.

"Everyone will be here in about an hour," he said happily. "The doctor said that you can only have three visitors at a time, though, so some of them may be waiting for a while."

The pencil moved against the paper once more. _What about work?_

Ed pulled up his chair to the bed and shook his head. "Team One's been off rotation since the bombings, what with you and Jules both laid up. She's out for at least two more weeks; she messed up her leg worse than she thought at first, but the doctor said that with care and rest, it should heal completely."

_The baby?_

"The baby's fine, Jules is fine, the whole team is fine, Greg. You're the one we were worried about. You don't know how glad we are that you woke up. It's been a very long four days."

Greg was surprised to see Eddie's eyes glisten, for he could count on one hand the times he had seen his friend cry since he'd known him. He smiled around the tube, and then decided to lighten the mood a little._  
_

_Tic-Tac-Toe anyone?_


	2. Chapter 2

Doctor Clark and the nurse came back to the room almost exactly one hour later. They shooed Dean and Ed out of the room before checking Greg's oxygen level and all of his vital signs, and then the doctor stood up and announced, "Everything looks good Sergeant Parker. What do you say we get that tube out?"

Greg nodded enthusiastically, and the doctor smiled. "All right, then. Take a deep breath, and when I say so, I want you to blow hard, like you're blowing up a balloon. Understand?"

After another nod, Doctor Clark grasped the tube near the base, Greg took a deep breath, and she said, "Now." He blew as hard as he could, but the sensation of the tube being pulled from his throat made him gag. On top of that, his throat burned like he had strep. The tube was soon out, however, and he coughed painfully. The nurse then placed a nasal cannula in position.

"Don't try to speak yet, Sergeant," the doctor said quickly. Your voice hasn't been used in four days, and you need to take it easy. Your throat is going to be sore, but the best thing for that is to keep it moist." With that, she handed him a cup of ice chips. "It will be some time before you are able to swallow without pain, so for now, just let the ice melt and trickle down your throat. Now, I'll be by later to check on you. I'll let your friends and family come back in, but no more than three at a time. You are still healing, and I can't have you tire yourself out, understand?"

Greg nodded one last time, and then she placed her hand on his arm, smiled, and left the room with the nurse. Almost immediately, Ed was at the bedside as Greg pushed a button to raise the head of the bed so that he was sitting up.

"Hey, buddy," Ed said with a grin, "how are you feeling?"

In spite of the pain, Greg returned the grin. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a croak. He grimaced, and Eddie grasped his shoulder lightly.

"It's okay, Greg, you don't have to say anything right now."

Greg furrowed his brow, grabbed Ed's arm tightly, and shook his head. He swallowed painfully and tried again. This time, he was able to speak, although his voice was rough and ragged.

"Thank you, Eddie."

Tears came to Ed's eyes, and he knelt beside the bed. "For what, Greg?"

Greg swallowed once more and managed, "For saving me."

Ed dropped his head and tried to compose himself. He took a deep breath, held it, and then released it slowly. When he raised his head again, he wiped his eyes and said, "Greg, you never have to thank me for that. You are my Sergeant, my friend, and my family. I'd do anything for you; I hope you know that."

Greg nodded and whispered, "I know, buddy, but thank you anyway."

His friend was about to speak when a soft voice came from the door.

"Dad?"

The smile returned to Greg's face as he turned his head toward his son. He released Eddie, who stood up and moved back, and held out his hand to Dean.

"Come here."

Dean was not able to control his tears the way Eddie was, and they streamed down his face as he put his hand in his father's and let himself be drawn to the bed. Greg let go of his hand and patted the bed at his side.

"Sit."

Lowering himself slowly to the bed so as not to jostle his father, Dean also wiped his eyes, but his breathing remained shallow and harsh. Greg's throat was burning, but he had one more thing to say before his voice left him completely. He took Dean's face in his hands and pulled him down to place a kiss on his forehead before resting his own forehead against it and closing his eyes.

"I love you, son," he whispered hoarsely.

"I love you, too, Dad," Dean responded, and he carefully laid his head on his father's shoulder.

Greg's left arm went around his son, and they stayed that way for a few minutes. Then Dean sat up and said with a shaky smile, "Everyone is here, Dad. Are you feeling up to seeing them?"

"Of course," Greg whispered, but then he began coughing. Eddie, who had been waiting by the door, quickly stepped forward, and Dean reached out to his father, but Greg held up a hand to stop them and shook his head. After the coughing stopped, he took the cup of ice chips, which was now half melted, and place a few in his mouth. Once they had moistened his throat, he managed, "I'm fine, really."

"All right, Greg," Ed said doubtfully, "but no more talking. I'll let everyone know before they come in, but you have to promise me you'll not speak anymore." The last line was said sternly, and Greg smiled before nodding his acceptance.

"Good," Ed continued. "Now, I'll go let them know they can come in. Dean, do you want to stay here?"

"No," Dean answered, looking at his father, "only three people can be in here at a time, and I want everyone to have a chance, so I'll go." He stood up and gave Greg's arm a light squeeze. "I'll be back later, Dad."

He followed Ed out of the room, and Greg took a moment to close his eyes and breathe deeply. He was already getting tired, and his throat was killing him, but he desperately needed to see his team – to see for himself that everyone was okay. His eyes came open a few minutes later at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. He smiled when he saw Spike, Winnie, and Wordy in the doorway. They hesitated briefly, but when he waved them in, they quickly surrounded his bed, Wordy on his left, and the other two on his right. Spike pulled a chair up for Winnie to sit down, and he stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. This action caused Greg's eyebrows to go up, and he looked at Spike quizzically.

Spike chuckled and Winnie smiled. "Yes, Boss," Spike said in answer to the unspoken question, "we're dating."

Greg opened his mouth to speak, but then he remembered his promise to Eddie. He frowned and grabbed the pencil and pad of paper off of the table next to the bed.

_Since when? _

Spike's grip on Winnie's shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly, and he said softly, "Since…that day."

Greg simply nodded. He knew exactly which day Spike meant. The pencil scratched on the paper once more.

_Sono veramente felice per entrambi, figlio mio. _

A big smile graced Spike's face as he responded, "_Grazie, mio padre._"

Winnie and Wordy looked back and forth between the two men, and then Winnie looked up at Spike and asked, "What did you just say?"

Spike laughed. "He simply said that he is happy for us, and I said thank you."

"Oh," she said, and then she looked back at Greg and laid her hand on his arm. "Thank you, Sarge. That means a lot coming from you."

Greg covered her hand with his own and gently squeezed. Then he released it and wrote:

_I only want the best for you, Winnie, and if this is it, you have my support and blessing._

Winnie dropped her head to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. Greg patted her hand and then turned to Wordy. Before he could write anything, his friend spoke up.

"I'm fine, Greg, really. The meds are controlling my symptoms for now, and life goes on. Shelley and the girls are good, but Allie has been asking when her Uncle Greg is coming over to play with her. You know you never finished coloring that poster with her. It's still in her room, just waiting for you to come back."

The memory of the little girl caused Greg's eyes to mist over. Just a week ago, the Wordsworths had invited Greg and Dean over for dinner, and Allie had waylaid Greg in the hall. Grabbing his hand, she had pulled him into her room where she showed him a large, color-by-number poster of Hello Kitty. The two of them had spent the next half hour stretched out on her floor surrounded by crayons. It was only Shelley's voice telling them the food was ready that caused them to stop.

Greg smiled and wrote:

_Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can, and that I can't wait to help her finish. _

"I will, Greg, I will, but we'd better get going now. There are still others who want to see you, and I don't know when visiting hours end."

Greg nodded, and Winnie stood up. She leaned down and gave Greg a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Get better soon, Sarge," she said softly.

The two men shook Greg's hand carefully, and then they were gone. Greg took a deep breath and grabbed his cup. The ice was now completely melted, so he took a careful sip of water. It soothed his throat as he let it trickle down, so he took another and another. Then he heard more footsteps, and he set the cup down. He smiled tiredly when Sam, Jules, and Leah turned the corner and came into view.

"Jules," he whispered, holding out his hand to her.

"Sarge, you're not supposed to talk," she scolded him as she hobbled toward him on her crutches. She leaned them against the chair, took his hand, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I don't care," he said softly. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she answered as Sam stood next to her and put his hand around her shoulder. Leah stood in the spot Wordy had just vacated. "My leg will be okay after a couple of weeks of staying off of it, and, more importantly, it seems that the baby wasn't affected at all."

"Good," Greg managed before breaking out into a coughing fit.

Sam quickly moved to him and held him until the coughing stopped. He handed Greg the water when the latter motioned toward it, and didn't move until Greg waved him away.

"I'm fine," he rasped, and then he grimaced and closed his eyes while putting his left hand on the right side of his chest.

"Are you sure, Boss?" Leah said, concern evident in her voice. "You don't look fine."

Greg opened his eyes to slits and looked at her pointedly. "I said I'm fine," he managed. "It hurts like hell, but I'm fine."

"I'll get the nurse," Sam said quickly, and he hurried from the room before Greg could stop him.

Greg sighed and laid his head back against the pillows. He hated being so helpless. He was the one who was supposed to be taking care of everyone else. He didn't want them to have to take care of him.

He felt Jules take his hand, and he looked at her. He saw the tears in her eyes, and he slowly raised his head. "I really am okay, Jules," he whispered. "I promise."

She nodded her head but didn't say anything; she just bit her bottom lip.

Just then, Sam returned with the nurse.

"I'm going to have to ask you all to leave now," she said authoritatively. "Sergeant Parker needs to rest," she looked at Greg rebukingly, "and he's got to stop talking."

The three officers nodded and Jules leaned over to kiss Greg on the cheek before grabbing her crutches and standing up. Sam and Leah both shook his hand, and they all left.

"They seem to care about you a great deal," the nurse said as she checked his vital signs.

Greg simply nodded, rested back in the bed, and closed his eyes. He didn't move as the nurse checked the dressings on his leg and chest, and only opened his eyes when she spoke again.

"Your wounds are healing nicely, Sergeant," she said. "Now, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, how's your pain?"

He frowned and thought for a moment, and then he held up six fingers.

"Really?" she sounded surprised. "It shouldn't be that bad. Let me get the doctor, and we'll see if we can increase your pain medication." She turned to walk out of the room when Greg grabbed her by the arm and forced her to stop. She looked back at him and was astonished to see him shaking his head. She frowned and said, "You don't want more?"

He shook it again, opened his mouth, and then huffed in frustration. He grabbed the pencil and paper and started scribbling furiously. When he was done, he handed the pad to the nurse.

_I want a clear head. The pain is bad, but I can handle it. Please. _

"I don't know..." she began, but when she saw the appeal in Greg's eyes, she stopped. "I'll have to ask the doctor," she said sympathetically, "and she'll make the final decision. Understand?"

Greg nodded one last time, and then he closed his eyes and pushed the button that lowered the head of the bed. He heard her finish up her tasks in the room and then leave. He laid there, breathing slowly and deeply, and tried to control the pain in his body.

When he had first woken up, there had been no pain, and then, after the tube in his throat had been removed, the only pain had been when he swallowed or talked. Now, though, his leg and chest were beginning to throb. Even so, he forced himself to relax and breathe, and soon, after long minutes of not moving, the pain lessened slightly. It was still there, however, and he knew that it would not go away for a very long time.

* * *

When Sam, Jules, and Leah reentered the waiting room, they saw that Spike, Winnie, and Wordy were still there. Spike was holding Winnie closely as she softly cried, and Wordy had his hand on Spike's shoulder. Both men looked as if they were struggling to hold in their tears as well. Jules and Leah had already lost their own battles, and their faces were streaked as they entered the room, while Sam's face was stony. Ed and Dean were also there, and they were seated in chairs just behind the first group. Dean was leaning up against Ed's chest and was fast asleep. Ed had his arm around the boy as he watched his friends in their grief. His emotions had run the gamut before the others had arrived, and now he was as stoic as ever. Jules hobbled over to him and sat down. Sam sat on the other side of her before pulling her into his embrace.

No one said anything for a long while; they all seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. The only sounds were Winnie's soft sobs and the normal hospital chaos around them. Finally, Ed spoke.

"He'll be okay," he stated softly, so as not to wake Dean. "He's strong, and he'll be okay."

"He'll survive," Sam said, "but will he be the same? Will he be able to walk? Will he be able to come back to work?" He growled deep in his chest. "I hate not knowing!"

Jules laid her hand on his thigh. "We all do, Sam, but we just have to hope for the best. At least he's alive and awake and back to his old self mentally." She chuckled softly. "I feel bad for the staff here now that he can voice his opinions. I can't imagine he'll want to stay in that bed too much longer."

Spike smiled and added, "I agree. I have a feeling that his doctors and nurses will have a heck of a time keeping up with him from now on considering how stubborn he can be."

"You mean like talking after the doctor specifically told him not to?" Ed laughed.

"Yes, exactly like that," Spike answered with his own laugh. Even Winnie, who had not completely stopped crying, chuckled a little at that, and Spike pulled her closer before placing a kiss on her forehead.

With the mood lightened somewhat, Sam stood up and helped Jules to her feet. "Well," he said, "they're not going to let us see him again today, so we should all get home. Ed, are you going to stay?"

"For a little bit," Ed responded. "Marina is on her way here, and I'll go home once she arrives. I don't want to leave Dean alone." He nodded down at the sleeping boy who hadn't even twitched throughout their discussion. "Poor kid," Ed continued. "He hasn't slept much these past days. I hope Marina and Greg can talk him into going home for a while."

"I wish them good luck with that," Wordy commented. "I can't imagine Dean wanting to let Greg out of his sight after almost losing him. Not for very long, anyway."

"You're probably right, Wordy," Ed said, "but he really needs a good night's sleep in his own bed."

"That he does," a new voice said, "and I'll try to convince him to come home with me tonight."

Everyone's heads turned toward the entrance to the waiting room, and they all smiled when Marina walked in. They all greeted her warmly, and then she looked at Ed.

"Ed, do you mind keeping Dean here for a little longer while I go see Greg?" she asked.

"Not at all," Ed replied. "Take as much time as you need."

"Thank you," she said sincerely, and then she looked around at the people around her, "and thank you all for your support. I don't think you know what it means to me to know that Greg has such great friends to help him and Dean through this."

"Not just Greg and Dean," Wordy said, laying his hand on Marina's shoulder, "you, too, Marina. Promise that if you need anything - you, not Greg or Dean - that you'll call one of us immediately."

"Thank you, Kevin," Marina said shakily, and he pulled her into a brief hug.

"Now," he said, pushing her back to arm's length, "go and see him. I know he'll be happy to see you."

She nodded and wiped her eyes before leaving the room. She walked down the hallways, breathing deeply to calm herself, but her steps became faster as she neared Greg's room. It was as if her body was afraid that if she didn't get there fast enough, it would all turn out to be some terrible, cruel joke. After what seemed like forever, she turned the last corner and saw him through the open doorway. He was lying still on the bed and didn't look much different from the last time she had seen him, except that the tube was gone from his mouth. She thought he was asleep, but when she reached the door, his eyes slowly opened, and he smiled before raising the head of the bed again. She hesitated in the doorway, but he held out his left hand to her, and she crossed the room and took it. He pulled her closer, and she sat down in the chair next to the bed.

"Hello, my dear," Greg whispered. "I am so very glad to see you."

"No more than I am glad to see you, Greg," she responded. "You can't imagine how glad I am that you are awake."

Greg simply smiled and crooked his right index finger at her. "Come closer," he said softly. "Sit next to me."

Marina did as he asked and moved to sit on the bed. He released her hand and reached his left hand up to cup her cheek. Without speaking, he gently pulled her to him until their lips met. The kiss was brief, but it was so full of emotion that Marina began crying. When Greg broke the kiss, she laid her forehead against his and allowed the tears to flow.

"Oh, Marina," Greg breathed, "please don't cry. Shh, it'll be all right, I promise."

She nodded against him, but it was some time before she was able to stop. She sat up slowly, and Greg reached out to wipe her face with his thumb. "Okay now?" he whispered.

"I think so," she said raggedly. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

She took a deep breath. "It's just that I was so afraid that I'd lost you."

Greg managed not to grimace at the pain in his chest as he took her face in both of his hands. "I know, but you didn't. And you won't. I'm going to be just fine."

She nodded again and leaned over to give him another kiss. This one was longer, and they only separated when they heard someone at the door.

"Um, I don't mean to interrupt," Ed said contritely, "but Dean's awake, and he'd like to come in."

Marina and Greg smiled at each other, and then she moved off the bed into the chair. Greg waved Ed and Dean into the room, and they came.

"Well," Ed continued, "since Marina's here, I'm going to head home and tell Sophie and Clark the good news."

"You didn't tell them yet?" Dean said incredulously.

Ed smiled and said, "No, I figured I'd rather tell them in person." Then he raised his hand in a wave. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Greg, all right?" Greg just nodded, and Ed turned and walked away.

When he was gone, Greg looked at his son. "Dean," he began, but the boy interrupted him.

"Dad, you're not supposed to be talking this much."

Greg shook his head and whispered, "Never mind that. How long has it been since you've been home?"

Dean dropped his head and didn't answer, so Marina answered for him. "He hasn't left the hospital since they brought you in, Greg."

That brought a concerned frown to Greg's face, and he said, "Is that true, Dean?"

His son looked up and nodded, "Yes, but I was just so afraid that you wouldn't wake up. I couldn't leave."

"I understand, son, but I'm awake now, and I want you to go home with Marina, eat a good meal, take a hot shower, and get a good night's sleep, do you hear me?" The small speech was the most he'd spoken at one time since coming out of the coma, and his throat was protesting, but it needed to be said.

Dean looked at his father and saw the determination in his eyes. He didn't want to go home, for he was still afraid that something bad would happen and he would still lose his dad, but when Greg raised his eyebrows at him, he nodded.

"I hear you," he said resignedly. "But I'll be back tomorrow."

Suddenly, Greg had a thought. "What day is today?" he asked.

"Friday," Marina answered, "Why?"

Greg just looked at his son. "So you've missed four days of school?"

Dean's eyes went wide. "Yes, but..."

"It's okay, Dean, really, but I want you to promise me that you'll go back on Monday."

Dean started to shake his head, but the determined look had returned to his father's face. He sighed and answered, "Yes, sir, I promise."

"Good," Greg said and rested back against the pillows. "Now, as much as I love having you two here, I am very tired, and I know you are, too. Go home, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Dean wanted to object, but he nodded his head. Greg gave Marina one more kiss, and then she stood up, and he motioned for Dean to come close. He carefully pulled him into a hug and whispered, "I love you, Dean."

Dean's voice caught in his throat as he replied, "I love you, too, Dad," before standing and walking out of the room with Marina.

As soon as they were gone, Greg lowered the head of the bed and closed his eyes. In spite of his pain, he was asleep in moments.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg was only asleep for a couple of hours when he was awakened by Doctor Clark. He reluctantly opened his eyes and saw her and another doctor he hadn't met standing beside his bed. He raised the head of the bed and looked at them.

"Sergeant, I'm sorry to wake you up, but we've got some work to do," Doctor Clark said. In response to Greg's look of questioning, she told him the details of his injuries and of the treatments he'd had the past four days, most of which he had figured out on his own - the punctured lung and broken ribs and shattered femur, the need for the ventilator, chest drain, and full leg brace. What gave him an unpleasant surprise, however, was the knowledge that the bullet had hit his pulmonary artery and that his heart had stopped twice during surgery. It was then that Greg finally realized why his friends and family had been so scared about his survival.

He reached over to the table and took the cup of water. After taking a sip, he held it in his hands, stared into the liquid, and twirled it slowly around. "What are my chances of a full recovery?" he asked softly.

She looked at him seriously. "I won't lie to you, Sergeant. While the injuries to your chest should heal without complications in the next three or four weeks, your leg is a different story. The bullet shattered your femur into four pieces. We used plates and screws to put it back together, and it should heal straight, but I am worried about the muscle and nerve damage that was done by both the bullet and the bone fragments, so I cannot give you a definite answer to your question."

Then she introduced the person next to her. "This is Doctor Durnin, your physical therapist. He is going to make sure that you regain as much mobility in your leg as possible. Hopefully, with enough hard work and time, that will be one hundred percent, but we'll just have to wait and see."

Doctor Durnin stepped forward. He was a large man, about six feet, three inches tall, with the build of an athlete. "Sergeant Parker," he began, but Greg held up his hand, and he stopped.

Greg swallowed to moisten his throat, and then whispered, "Please, call me Greg." He looked at Doctor Clark. "Both of you."

Doctor Durnin nodded and said, "All right, Greg, I want to explain to you what we are going to be doing. First, we need to get you up and moving. Usually, after a break like the one you've had, the patient is starting to walk within two days, but, obviously, that couldn't happen with you, so we're a little behind there. It's not a big deal, though; your muscles will have atrophied just a bit more than normal. Now, because of the injuries to your chest, you won't be able to use crutches, so it'll have to be a walker."

He stopped and smiled at the frustrated frown on Greg's face at those words. "I know, walkers are for old people." His smile grew broader when Greg nodded. "Well, they are also for people with injuries like yours, and look!" he gestured behind him, "We've got one right here!"

His attitude was contagious, and Greg could not help smiling back at him. He took another sip of water. His throat was still a little sore, and his body still hurt, but it wasn't as bad as before. He supposed the two hours without talking or moving had something to do with that. He set the cup back on the table and looked at the doctors.

"When do we start?" he asked quietly.

"Now," said Doctor Clark, "but first I need to ask you a question. Nurse O'Brien told me that you didn't want painkillers; is that right?"

Greg just nodded.

"Do you mind if I ask why?" the doctor continued.

Greg tilted his head and looked at her, trying to decide how much to say. "I just don't want to risk any kind of dependency, and I want to be able to think clearly," he finally stated.

Doctor Clark looked at him knowingly. "Are you an addict, Greg?"

Greg nodded. "Alcohol," he said simply. "I've been sober for over ten years, but I know the risk of a relapse with any addictive substance. If I can get through this without any narcotics, I want to."

The doctors looked at each other, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Doctor Durnin then spoke to Greg. "I'm willing to try physical therapy with non-addictive drugs, but you must promise me that you won't be a hero. If the pain gets overwhelming, we will have to manage it, or your therapy will be detrimentally affected. Do you understand me?"

"I understand," Greg answered, "and I promise to tell you if the pain gets too bad. Deal?" He stuck out his left hand.

Doctor Durnin smiled and took it with his own left hand, and the two men shook. "Deal," he said. "Now, tell me the truth. Do you need anything right now? Remember that you're going to be moving a lot more than you have been."

Greg closed his eyes and mentally assessed his pain. It was manageable at the moment, but he knew that with only a little exertion, it could quickly blossom and overwhelm him. He opened his eyes and said, "I'll take some now. The pain's not bad now, but I know it'll get worse the more I move."

"That it will," Doctor Clark responded. "A few questions, then. Are you allergic to aspirin or NSAIDs?"

"No."

"Good, I'll be right back."

She walked out of the room, and Doctor Durnin dropped into the chair beside the bed. He relaxed against the back, crossed his right leg over his left knee, and clasped his hands around his right knee.

"What is she getting?" Greg asked.

"Probably high-dosage ibuprofen. That's what I would recommend, anyway. We'll have two options: we can wait for it to take effect, or we can start on the therapy right away."

Greg thought for a moment. "How long until it takes effect?"

"About half an hour."

Not wanting to wait that long, Greg said, "I'd like to start right away, then. If the pain gets bad before the drugs kick in, I'll let you know."

"Sounds like a plan," Doctor Durnin said, and then he stood up when Doctor Clark returned to the room.

"All right, Greg, I have liquid ibuprofen since pills might be a little hard to swallow just yet. I need you to drink this glass of milk first to help prevent stomach problems." She handed Greg the milk, and he slowly drank it down. The coldness of it soothed his throat, and when she handed him the cup of ibuprofen, he was able to swallow it without any problems.

When he was finished, Doctor Clark took the glass and medicine cup and said, "Well, gentlemen, I'll leave you to it," and she left the room.

Doctor Durnin looked at Greg and raised his eyebrows. "Ready?"

Greg nodded, but then he paused. "What is your first name, Doctor?"

The doctor smiled. "Killian," he answered.

"Do you mind if I call you by that?"

"Not at all. Now, let get started." He stepped to the bed and lowered Greg's left leg out of the sling onto the bed. Greg winced, and he stopped. "Are you good?"

"I'm good," Greg responded. "I'll let you know if I'm not, I promise."

"All right, Greg. I'm going to trust you on that one." He helped Greg sit all the way up, and then he gently swung him around until his feet were on the floor.

A stab of pain went through his chest, but he ignored it. It wasn't so bad yet that he couldn't handle it. Greg held himself up with his left hand behind him on the bed while Killian retrieved the walker from its place by the door. He positioned it in front of Greg, moved his IV bag to the pole attached to the walker, placed the oxygen tank in the holder, and then moved to his left side.

"Pain in the butt, isn't it?" Greg joked.

"That it is," Killian laughed. "Okay, grab the walker with both hands, and I'll help you stand."

Greg did as he said, his body protesting slightly at the unaccustomed movement. Killian gently placed his hands underneath Greg's arms and slowly raised him to a standing position. It was awkward considering the brace on his leg kept him from moving any joint other than his hip. He adjusted his body weight until he felt he could stand independently, Killian keeping hold of him the entire time, and then he looked at the doctor and nodded. Killian nodded back and slowly released him, but his hands stayed close in case Greg started to fall.

After a short moment getting used to this position, Greg looked at Killian and asked, "Now what?"

Smiling, Killian answered, "Now, if you think you can, I want you to try to take a few steps. You can put as much weight on your left leg as you can handle. In fact, the sooner you can bear weight on it, the better. I'll be right here to catch you if you have problems, so don't worry about that. Ready to try?"

Greg nodded and furrowed his brow, concentrating on moving his left leg forward one step without putting too much stress on his chest wound. He managed to do so, but when he tried to shift his weight from his right leg to his left, he found that he couldn't, not completely. He was, however, able to support himself mostly on his left arm, with a very little amount of weight on his leg. In this way, he shuffled his right leg forward. He continued to shift his weight between his right leg and his left arm until he managed to move halfway between the bed and the door. At that point, Killian stopped him.

"Great job, Greg. Now, just rest for a minute and tell me how you are feeling - and be completely honest with me, please."

Greg closed his eyes and again mentally assessed himself. There was pain, but it was manageable. What he quickly realized, however, was that his right leg was beginning to shake slightly, as was his left arm. He knew that it was because of the demands he was putting on them after four days of complete inactivity, and he also knew that it would take a lot of hard work before he was able to move confidently on his own. He was intensely frustrated with his limitations, but he opened his eyes and looked at the doctor.

"I feel all right, but I think I should go back."

Killian nodded and helped Greg turn around. "Do you want help walking back?" he asked.

"No," Greg said, "I can make it."

The doctor nodded again and followed Greg back to the bed, and then he replaced the oxygen tank and IV and helped his patient back in bed. He was placing his leg back in the sling when Greg spoke up.

"Is that really necessary?"

"For now," the doctor replied. You have a lot of damage to the back of your thigh, and, until it heals a little more, we want to keep the pressure off of it."

Greg frowned in annoyance, but he just settled back against the pillows. There was nothing he hated more than being unable to control his life. It was the same feeling he'd had when he was trying to see Dean down in Dallas. As he lay on the bed, waiting for Killian to finish his tasks, he made a promise to himself: he would do whatever was necessary to get back to normal as soon as possible, no matter how difficult or painful that might be.

* * *

Three hours earlier, Spike and Winnie were walking out of the hospital toward Spike's car in the parking garage, arms around each other. Winnie was doing her best to control her tears, but she mostly failed. Spike could feel her trembling slightly and heard her shaky breaths, and he gently pulled her closer to him.

"He's going to be okay, Winnie," he said softly, and he felt her nod against his shoulder.

"I know, Spike, but I can't stand seeing him like that. The Sarge isn't supposed to get hurt. He's always been the strong one, the one to take care of everyone else. It's just not right." Winnie's breath hitched as she tried to contain a sob.

Spike stopped walking, took her by her upper arms, and turned her to face him. He was about to speak, to reassure her again, when he saw the slow trickle of tears coming from her eyes and tracing rivulets down her face. His eyes softened immediately, and he reached out one hand to gently wipe the tracks with his fingers. He stopped when she covered his hand with her own and leaned her cheek into his palm, closing her eyes and sighing.

"Oh, Winnie," he breathed, feeling his chest tighten with the overwhelming feelings that flowed through him. He had liked Winnie for years, and she had even admitted that he was the perfect guy not long before the bombings, but it was in moments like this that he felt as if his feelings might be much more than affection or friendship. He thought to himself that he was rapidly falling in love with Winnie Camden.

As she gazed up into his chocolate-brown eyes, he closed them, slowly lowered his head, and brushed his lips across hers. He kept the caress soft, and, after a few moments, he broke contact and drew her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Her arms encircled him just as firmly, and she laid her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting it calm her with its constant, strong rhythm.

When he felt Winnie's breathing even out into a deep, smooth cadence, he tenderly pushed her away from him and looked down at her, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. "Are you all right, now, Winnie?"

She smiled up at him, her eyes now dry. "Yes, Spike." She reached up on her toes and gave him a kiss that was brief but still full of emotion.

He smiled back and said simply, "Good," and then he put his arm around her shoulder, and they finished the short walk to his car.

They drove to Spike's apartment and, while he put together a simple lunch in the kitchen, Winnie settled down on the couch in his living room. She relaxed against the back cushions and thought about the wonderful man who always seemed to know exactly what to say or do to make her feel better.

After the tragedy that had put Greg in the hospital, Winnie had thought that she would fall apart completely. The helplessness she had felt as she had listened to Ed's cries for help and his desperate pleas for his friend and Sergeant to hold on had torn at her composure, and she had been sure that she would simply collapse on the floor in a heap due to her grief. The only thing that had held her together was the fact that Dean and Mira were standing at her desk, the boy even more devastated than she was. After they had heard that the medics had gotten to Greg, she had muted the volume so that Dean could not hear anything that was said. She didn't think he would have survived had he listened to the sounds of his father dying, which is exactly what Winnie had expected would happen.

In the sudden silence, broken only by the harsh breaths coming from all three of them, Dean had looked at her uncomprehendingly. Before he could speak, she had.

"Dean," she had managed, "we've got to get you to the hospital." She had immediately gotten on the phone to see if there was anyone around the station who could take him, but there was no one who could be spared. It had taken almost an hour of calls and pleas before Sidney had come to take over her dispatch duties. During that time, Mira had been able to contact her parents, and they had come to pick her up. Dean had simply sat, dazed and confused, on a bench outside of the gym, completely ignoring everyone as the other teams had begun to come back to SRU headquarters. The officers had looked at him with compassion, but none had approached him. It had only been after Winnie relinquished her desk, walked over to him, and put her hand on his shoulder that he had showed any sign of understanding of what was going on around him.

"Winnie? Is he dead?" he had whimpered, and the sound had been as a dagger to her heart.

She had swallowed against the rapidly rising lump in her throat and had gently raised him to his feet. "Let's go, Dean. I'll drive you." She had deliberately avoided answering his question because she had known that the answer was probably "yes."

It had taken them nearly another hour to get to the hospital, and they had instantly seen the rest of Team One, with the exception of Ed, standing in the emergency room waiting area with Marina. Dean had run into her arms, and it had helped Winnie a little bit to know that he had someone who would help him get through this. Then she had seen Spike looking at her, tears streaming down his face, and her resoluteness crumbled, as did her legs underneath her. Before she had hit the floor, however, his strong arms had been around her, holding her to him as if she were the safety line that was keeping him from being swept away in the sea of grief surrounding him, instead of the other way around. She had no idea how long they had stood like that, gathering strength from each other, but by the time Ed had walked into the waiting room, they had moved to the chairs next to Sam and Jules.

Winnie's reverie was broken by the touch of Spike's hands on her shoulders. She looked up from her lap, where her hands were tightly clasped, and locked gazes with him. He was kneeling in front of her, concern and compassion shining brightly from his eyes.

"Winnie? Are you sure you're all right?" Worry creased his brow, and he moved his hands to hers, gently stroking them until they relaxed. She took his hands and smiled sadly.

"I'm fine, Spike, really. I was just thinking of that day." Tears formed in her eyes and threatened to fall, but she was tired of crying, and she forced them back.

"_Bella_," he whispered as he brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek before moving his hand to trail down her temple, "you've got to let it go. The Boss is going to be okay, Clark's okay, I'm okay, and you're okay."

"I know," she answered softly, "but it's hard." Then she turned her face into his palm and gently kissed it. "But you don't have to worry about me; I'll be just fine."

He cupped her cheek and traced her lips with his thumb. "Of course I have to worry about you," he breathed, and raised his eyes to hers, "because I love you, Winnie."

She caught her breath, and her eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Spike was afraid that he had just made a huge mistake, and he tried to cover it with humor. "Speechless again?" he said with a nervous chuckle. "Is that a good thing this time, too?"

The tears that Winnie had forced back earlier came back in force and streamed down her face, pooling in Spike's hand. She couldn't speak, so instead, she grabbed his head and drew it to her. She claimed his lips with hers, and this kiss was not brief or gentle. It was full of all of the emotions swirling within her, and soon, Spike took it over, rising up on his knees and pressing Winnie back into the couch. Their arms encircled each other as he probed her lips with his tongue until it was granted entry. They explored each other's mouth intimately, until Spike's hands began to travel over Winnie's shoulders toward the buttons on her shirt. It was then that a jolt of reason shot through Winnie's addled brain, and she grabbed his hands with hers, stilling them at the top button. He broke the kiss, pulled back, and looked at her in confusion.

"Mike," she rasped, using his given name for the first time in her memory, "stop, please."

The sound of his name coming from her lips caused a shiver to run through Spike, but he stopped his motions and simply grasped her hands and brought them to his lips. "I'm sorry..." he began, but Winnie shook her head.

"No,"she said, swallowing, "you have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing." She pulled one of her hands from his and gently touched his face. "I love you, too, Mike, but I'm just not ready for that yet."

Her words sent another jolt through him, and he smiled, causing the dimples she loved so much to form. "Do you mean it, Winnie? Please don't say it if you don't mean it."

She smiled back at him and leaned forward for a quick kiss. "I mean it," she said softly against his lips, "with everything that I am."

He took a deep breath and deepened the kiss but kept his hands confined to roaming across her head and back. When they separated, Spike sat back on his heels, holding Winnie's hands and simply staring up into her eyes. He didn't move until she squeezed his hands and chuckled.

"Mike, what about lunch?"

His eyes went wide, and he quickly stood up, pulling her with him. "Right," he said quickly, "that's what I came over here to tell you. Lunch is ready." Then he pulled her to him. "You simply made me forget about it."

She hugged him tightly and then pulled back to look at him. "Me, too, but now I'm hungry."

He laughed lightly, and they moved to the dining room where the meal was laid out on the table.

After eating, they moved back to the living room and cuddled on the couch while watching a movie on the television. At the very moment Killian was leaving Greg's room, Spike was reclining against the back of his couch, the woman he loved sleeping peacefully in his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

At the same time, Sam and Jules were also together on their couch. They weren't cuddling or sleeping, however; they were panicking a little bit. They sat next to each other, staring at the array of books and papers on the coffee table in front of them.

When they had gotten back to the house after leaving Greg at the hospital, there had been a box on the front step. It was about two feet square. Sam had looked at Jules quizzically, and, after following her as she hobbled up to the house, he scanned the address from where it had come, and he saw that it was from his mother. It had surprised him a little because his parents had only been gone from Toronto for two days, and he couldn't imagine what she could have sent them. The postage showed that she had sent it overnight, and that intrigued him even more since the General rarely splurged on an expense like that. Even so, he had picked it up, grunting with the weight, and brought it into the house before putting it down next to the coffee table in the living room.

Now, three hours later, the Braddocks were still going through the plethera of items in the box. His parents, including his father according to the short letter inside, which shocked Sam to the core, had sent them what looked like every baby book, pamphlet, and Internet article on the planet. Jules had taken them out one by one and placed them on the table after glancing over them. At first, it had been fun – like Christmas almost – but now, after hours of looking through information that ranged from child development to nutrition for both mother and baby to avoiding making the same mistakes your parents made, they were overwhelmed.

Jules huffed out a sigh and leaned back against the couch. "Wow, Sam," she breathed, "that's a lot of information. What are we going to do with it all?"

"I'm not sure," Sam replied, still a little stunned that his parents had spent so much time and effort putting the package together. "But there is one thing I am sure of," and he smiled as he leaned back next to her.

"What's that?" she asked, taking his hand in hers.

"We're going to need another bookcase."

Jules chuckled softly, and Sam released her hand to pull her to his side. He kissed the top of her head as she settled it against his shoulder, and he sighed quietly. They sat there silently for a while, content to simply be with each other, and all the while, Sam let his hand softly travel up and down Jules' arm, occasionally tracing her fingers with his own. The motion ceased suddenly when he felt her stiffen slightly.

Sam's brow furrowed, and he asked, "What is it, Jules? Does your leg hurt?"

She didn't move out of his embrace, but she shook her head. She said nothing for a moment, and then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's not that, Sam."

"Then what?"

Another deep breath. "Do you think Sarge will be okay?"

Sam could tell that she was trying to make the question sound nonchalant, but she didn't quite pull it off, and he could hear the worry behind the words. He held his breath for a moment, thinking of how to answer.

"Mentally?" he started. "I think he'll be just fine. He's been a cop for a very long time, and I don't think that getting shot will affect him too much. After all, he's been shot before. Physically, though?" He stopped and closed his eyes. "I don't know," he said, trying to will away the tightening in his chest. "I don't think so."

Jules sat up and looked at him. "What makes you say that?"

Sam opened his eyes without lifting his head off of the couch and stared at the ceiling. "I've seen a lot of battle wounds, Jules, and that bullet did an awful lot of damage." He turned his head toward her. "I think he'll walk again, but I don't think he'll ever be back to normal. I don't know how much it will affect whether or not he can come back to work, and I don't know how _that_ will affect him mentally." He sat up as he saw a tear slowly slide down Jules' cheek, and he reached out to brush it away.

She smiled sadly at him and quipped, "Sam, don't you know that you're supposed to lie to me and say he'll be just fine?"

He returned the smile as he leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. The gesture caused more tears to escape Jules' eyes, and she released a sob before collapsing into Sam's chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and whispered into her hair, "You should know by now that I will never lie to you, Jules, even to make you feel better."

He was relieved to hear her chuckle softly. "I know, Sam; I don't expect you to." She scooted closer and held him tighter. "I'm just being silly – must be the hormones."

"No, sweetheart," he responded, putting one finger under her chin and tilting her face to his, "you're not. It's never silly to be worried about someone you love. Sarge is a lucky man to have you in his life."

Jules smiled at his words, and she moved one hand to cup his cheek. "Thank you, Sam, that means a lot." She kissed him lightly, and then whispered against his lips, "I love you."

Sam groaned softly and intensified the kiss as he pulled her to him. The heat between them built until he couldn't stand it anymore, and he quickly stood, placed his large hands on Jules' waist, and picked her up easily. Holding her to him closely and resuming the kiss, he carried her to their bedroom to show her exactly how much he loved her, too.

* * *

As Ed drove away from the hospital, he marveled at the way Toronto had rebounded after the terror of Marcus Faber's rampage. Although it would be months, or even years, before the physical damage to the city's buildings was repaired, the people of Toronto were already getting back to their normal lives. As such, it only took him about twenty-five minutes to drive to his home in North York. As he pulled into his driveway, he thought about how blessed he was to have a family that loved him and who had made it through the recent tragedy relatively unscathed.

Clark came home in a wheelchair, since he couldn't bear weight on his leg, and he couldn't use crutches due to the cast on his arm. The broken ribs would have made it very painful as well. The Lane house was not set up for it, though, and Ed and Sophie had spent a good part of the last four days moving furniture and making it as easy as possible to get the chair around the house. Ed had been splitting his time between home and the hospital, but now that Greg was awake and seemed to be doing okay, he vowed to himself that he would spend much more time with his family. He didn't know when Team One would be going back to work, but he wanted to be home as much as possible now.

He walked up the path to his door and, as soon as he opened it, he heard a crash. He slammed the door against the wall and rushed inside. There was no sound in the house except for some low murmuring coming from the kitchen. He quickly moved in that direction, but stopped and suppressed a laugh at the sight that met his eyes.

Clark was in front of the refrigerator turned slightly away from Ed, and his lap was saturated in orange juice. On the floor in front of him was a plastic container that was rapidly disgorging the remaining juice onto the floor and the shards of a glass. Ed couldn't help but chuckle when Clark slammed his good fist down on the arm of his chair and huffed in annoyance. The sound caused Clark's head to snap up and turn in the direction of his father. His brows furrowed even further when he saw the barely contained grin on Ed's face.

"It's not funny, Dad!" His frustration was evident in his tone of voice, and Ed quickly composed himself and closed the distance between them.

"I'm sorry, Clark. I didn't mean to laugh, but, in all seriousness, look at yourself." He placed one hand on his son's shoulder.

Clark stared at his lap, and he couldn't stop a small smile from creeping onto his face. He turned his head to look up at his father. "Okay," he conceded, "it is a little funny." Then his face grew serious again. "But, Dad, it's just so frustrating! Mom and Izzy are napping, and I just wanted a drink. I couldn't even do that by myself!"

Ed moved to the sink and got a towel before kneeling and righting the orange juice container. While he carefully picked up the pieces of the broken glass, he said, "I know, buddy, but remember that it's only been four days. The doctor said it would be a couple of months before the cast comes off your arm, and longer for your leg. You'll just have to be patient and ask for help when you need it." He threw the shards in the trash, and as he began to wipe up the sticky liquid from the floor, he glanced up at his son.

Clark was sitting silently, head down, and Ed was surprised to see tears forming in his son's eyes. He dropped the towel and knelt in front of the wheelchair, putting his arms around Clark's shoulders and pulling him close.

"What's wrong, Clark?" he asked quietly.

Clark leaned into his father's strong embrace and took a deep breath, attempting to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. He let the breath out shakily, and then he whispered, "Dad, I'm scared."

That was not what Ed was expecting, and he gently pushed Clark back into the chair while he held onto his upper arms and looked into his face. "Of what, son?"

"I don't know," Clark answered, "that's the problem. I've been having nightmares, but I can't remember them, and I have this constant fear that something bad is going to happen, but I don't know what."

Ed held his son's face and peered deeply into his eyes. "Listen to me, Clark," he said softly, "that is perfectly normal after what you've been through, but the only way it will get better is if you talk about it. Don't hold it inside, and never be afraid to tell your mom or me when you're having troubles. Why didn't you say you were having nightmares?"

Clark tried to avert his face, but Ed held him still. "I didn't think I should be feeling this way since I survived, and so many others didn't. I thought that I should just be happy to be alive." he finally said, his voice breaking.

Ed drew his son to himself again and took a deep, regretful breath. "Oh, Clark, you have the right to feel however you feel. You went through a situation that would have reduced most grown men to a quivering mess, but you have been so brave. In fact, I haven't seen you shed a tear since it happened. I need you to know that it's okay to cry, buddy, if that's what you need to do."

The instant the words left Ed's mouth, he felt Clark take a great hitching breath that turned into the most heartwrenching sobs he had ever heard. Clark grabbed Ed's shirt with his good hand and held on as if he would fall apart at the seams if he let go. He buried his face against his father's chest and cried. Ed held him even tighter and let him do so, whispering soothing words all the while, wishing at the same time that his son hadn't had to go through this. Clark heard nothing but a low murmur, but it comforted him just to know that his father was there with him. They stayed in that position for almost five minutes, but eventually, Clark slowly sat back in his chair, eyes closed, and rested his head against the back.

Ed let his hands remain on his son's shoulders, gently holding him. A grimace passed across Clark's face, and Ed furrowed his brows with worry. "Are you all right, Clark?"

Clark simply nodded his head and raised his head to look at his dad. "Yeah," he grunted, and then he smiled slightly. "It felt good to cry like that, but, dang, my ribs really hurt now."

Ed chuckled a little and asked, "How long has it been since you've had your pain meds?"

Clark glanced at the clock over the microwave and said, "Almost four hours."

"Okay, then you can take some more if you need to."

"Yeah, Dad, that sounds great, thanks." Clark laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes again while Ed stood up to get his medication and a glass of water.

Coming back to his son, he smiled when he saw Sophie come to the doorway of the kitchen, a look of shock on her face at the scene before her. Izzy was on her hip, and the little girl cried out, "Daddy!" and held out her hands to him.

"Why was the front door open, and what in the world happened here?" Sophie asked, taking one step closer to her boys.

Ed looked around and laughed softly. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Clark dropped a glass, and we got a little sidetracked while I was cleaning it up. I guess I forgot to shut the door behind me." He smiled at his son and ruffled his curly hair.

"Sidetracked by what?" Sophie said, slight disbelief over the state of her kitchen still evident on her face.

Handing Clark the water and pills, Ed walked to his wife and gave her a kiss. Then he placed a gentle kiss on his daughter's forehead before taking her in his arms. "Clark was telling me about how he's been feeling since the bombings."

"Oh," she said shortly, and then she looked at her son closely and noticed the puffy red eyes and tear tracks down his cheeks. Then she looked at Ed and saw the large damp spot on the front of his shirt. "Are you okay, Clark?"

"Yeah, Mom, I'll be fine. It was a good talk," he answered with a smile directed toward his dad.

"Are you sure?" she persisted, placing her hand on his shoulder and taking the glass from him and setting it on the counter.

"Positive, and I promise both of you that I'll tell you if there comes a time when I'm not fine."

"All right, if you say so," Sophie responded, although she was not quite sure she completely believed him. Nonetheless, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and stood up. "Now, gentlemen, if you will leave this mess to me, I'll get it cleaned up."

"Before you do that," Ed said with a smile, "I have news for both of you."

"What is it, Dad?"

Ed's grin grew larger as he answered, "Greg woke up a couple of hours ago."

That was all he managed to get out before Sophie threw her arms around him with a joyful cry. Clark sat in his chair, grinning from ear to ear, and even Izzy picked up on the happiness in the atmosphere and clapped her hands.

"Oh, Eddie, that's the best thing I've heard in days!" Sophie said as Ed hugged her tightly with his free hand.

"Is he okay, Dad?" Clark asked, his smile dimming slightly as he thought about how badly the Sergeant had been hurt.

"I think so, buddy," Ed replied. Sophie stepped back from him and simply smiled. "He got the ventilator tube out, and, even though the doctors told him not to, he's been talking with everyone, and, as far as I can tell, he's back to his old self mentally. Physically, we'll just have to wait and see. It may be months before we know how much use he'll get back in his leg." Ed's face fell a little with these last words, and Sophie laid her hand on his arm.

"He's awake and alert, Eddie," she said softly. "That's much more than he was just a few hours ago."

"I know, Soph, and he's alive, which is the most important thing. A few hours ago, we weren't even sure that he would live, much less wake up and be okay."

Sophie gave his arm a squeeze and reached up to give him a quick kiss. "As you said, Ed, let's just wait and see. No need to worry about things that haven't happened yet, and may never happen, right?"

"Right," he responded. Then he turned to Clark and was about to put Izzy in his lap when he remembered that his son was all sticky with orange juice. He laughed and said, "Come on, Clark, let's get you cleaned up." He turned to Izzy and said, "Come on, little girl, your big brother made a big mess of himself. Let's go help him get clean, shall we?"

Izzy squealed and clapped her hands, and Ed placed her on the back of the wheelchair between the handles, facing him. "Now, hold onto me tightly, Izzy, and we'll get Clark to the bathroom, okay?"

The little girl nodded and grabbed Ed's forearms tightly, a large smile on her face. Ed glanced over his shoulder at Sophie as he pushed his son out of the kitchen and was glad to see her smiling as well. "Sophie, when you're done, why don't you order something for dinner and go wait in the backyard for us?"

"That sounds great, Eddie," she replied, and he took his children out of the kitchen so everything and everyone could get cleaned up.

Two hours later, the Lane family was sitting in the backyard, Ed and Sophie cuddling in the hammock with Izzy sleeping against her father's chest and Clark in his chair near them. The ones who were awake were talking softly about nothing of importance, but just being together was comforting for each and every one of them. When Clark yawned widely, Ed grinned.

"Time for bed, son?" he said.

"Yeah, Dad, I think that's a good idea." Another yawn cracked his jaws, and Sophie gently moved out of Ed's embrace and stood up.

"I'll help Clark if you'll put Izzy to bed," she said to Ed.

"Deal," he responded, "but only if you come back out when you're done."

She gave him a smile and nodded before pushing Clark into the house.

Ed stood up, careful not to wake up his daughter. He carried her to her room and placed her tenderly in the crib. Then he gave her a kiss on her forehead and covered her with a blanket. Slipping silently out of the room, he shut the door and went down the hallway and back outside. He settled himself in the hammock again and stared up at the stars above.

It wasn't long before he heard Sophie's quiet footsteps, and he looked at her as she walked toward him. The glow of the light by the back door surrounded her, and she looked like an angel to him. As she came closer, he held out one hand. She took it, and he pulled her down next to him and put his arm around her shoulder. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat, enjoying the calming rhythm. Ed kissed the top of her head and pulled her just a little bit closer before laying his head on hers and closing his eyes.

"Eddie," she said softly.

"Yes, baby?"

"Is Clark really okay?"

Ed sighed, but otherwise did not move. "He will be," he responded. "He's scared that something else will happen, and he's also suffering from survivor's guilt. I told him that they were both natural responses to what happened to him, and I think that he will work through this with our help. I also told him not to be afraid to tell us about his feelings, no matter what they are. He'll probably go through some anger, some more fear, and some more guilt, but I truly think he'll be all right."

"But what if he's not, Eddie?" Sophie's voice was small against his chest.

"If we can't help him, then we'll find someone who can," he answered.

Sophie nodded, and then she sat up enough to look at Ed's face. He opened his eyes and gazed into hers.

"What about Greg? Do you think he'll be able to return to work?" she asked.

Another sigh escaped him, but this one was full of worry. "I honestly don't know, Soph. His leg is pretty messed up. If he can't walk, he can't do his job, and if he can't do his job, I don't know what that will do to him. He lives for the SRU, and I don't want to think about what might happen if he loses it."

Sophie reached up a hand and cupped Ed's face. "I know, Eddie, but we'll help him through this just as much as we'll help Clark. You will help him. You and the team." She gave him a kiss and then settled back against his chest. "Besides, like I said before, there is no use worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet."

"You're right," he said, pulling her close and wrapping both arms around her. "We'll just have to take things as they come."

She said nothing else, and they simply sat with each other, wrapped up in their own thoughts, Ed's foot on the ground gently rocking them back and forth.


	5. Chapter 5

For Team One, the next week brought many changes. They were without their Sergeant, so Commander Hollaran made an executive decision to promote Ed to Acting Sergeant of Team One the day after Greg woke up. Ed still had to go through the formal process to make his rank official, but the team needed a Sergeant, and there was no telling when, or if, Greg would be back.

Although he knew that someday he would have applied for the rank, Ed wasn't exactly thrilled with this decision. For one, he enjoyed his role as Team Leader and didn't really want to take on the responsibilities of Team Sergeant. More than that, however, there was a nagging voice in the back of his head that said he was betraying Greg, as if by taking his position on the team, that meant the brass thought his friend wouldn't be coming back. His logical, rational brain told him that was ridiculous – that it was necessary for the team to function and get back to work. If Greg did make it back to the team, Ed would immediately relinquish his position and things would most likely return to the way they were before. His emotional brain, however, was trying its best to override that knowledge and fill him with guilt.

Jules was still out with her leg injury when the team returned to SRU headquarters the Monday after the bombings. It had only been a week, but it seemed like a lifetime. The four healthy members of the team met at six o'clock in the briefing room. With very little discussion, it was agreed that Sam should become the new Team Leader. Ed smiled and said, "Now you get to make the autocratic decisions, Sam."

The next two days were spent on recruitment trials to fill the two empty spots on the team. It had been determined that when Jules came back, they would have seven members on the team again, just like it had been when Sam first joined it, so that one of the two new people wouldn't have a temporary position. The team tried to put their whole hearts into the trials, but the atmosphere was back to what it was like when Lou died. Although Greg hadn't died, he was as gone from the team for the forseeable future as if he had, considering it would probably be at least six months before he could even consider returning. In the end, the team chose a thirty-two year-old sniper of Korean heritage named Jin Song, and another constable by the name of Carl Papp. Both men far exceeded the other recruits in their scores, and it was not a very hard decision to make.

The next day, ten days after the bombings, Team One was back in duty rotation at full strength. One week after that, Jules came back, but she was relegated to staying in the truck on calls until her own physical therapy was over, which would be another two weeks or so.

* * *

For Greg, his days were very monotonous, consisting of sleeping, eating, suffering through being helped with daily hygeine tasks, getting the dressings changed on his wounds, and physical therapy with Killian. By the end of the second day after waking, Greg was disconnected from all the tubes and machines, which bolstered his spirits immensely. The therapy happened three times a day, and while it was incredibly difficult at first, he pushed himself hard, and after each session, he could move a little more with a little less pain, and he could place a little more weight on his leg.

The only thing that made the days bearable, however, was when Dean and Marina came to visit. His team came when they could, but Eddie had told him about the new dynamics, and Greg knew they were back to work, so their visits were becoming less and less frequent. His son and girlfriend, however, came every day after school and work, and that was the highlight of Greg's day. They stayed until visiting hours were over each day, and only once did Greg ask Marina if she didn't have anything better to do than to sit with him. The indignant glare that he received in response was enough for him to keep his mouth shut after that.

By the time two weeks had passed since he awakened, Greg was going insane. He was able to use his walker to make it down the hallway to the nurses' station by himself, and he was also able to put weight on his left leg to a much greater extent than he had before, but everything about the hospital was slowly chipping away at his sanity – the noises, the smells, the stark, white walls and floors. He desperately wanted to go home, and the day Doctors Clark and Durnin told him he was being discharged, he was more than ready. When Dean and Marina arrived that afternoon, he was dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting, bag packed and discharge papers in hand. The looks of surprise of their faces were priceless, and Greg couldn't help but smile. They both returned it, and Marina sat next to him, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a kiss. He held her as tightly as he could and then took a deep breath before pushing her back gently and tracing one hand down her cheek.

"Thank you," he said softly.

She crinkled her brow and answered, "For what, Greg?"

He shrugged. "Everything. For being here, for putting up with me these last two weeks, for loving me."

Marina took his hand in hers and tenderly kissed the palm before grasping it and pulling it to her chest. "I do love you, Greg."

"I know, and I love you, too."

The tender moment was broken when Dean cleared his throat. Greg's face broke out in a grin, and he gave Marina one more quick kiss before turning to his son.

"Don't worry, Dean, I haven't forgotten about you. Come here," and he held out his hand.

Dean quickly sat on the other side of Greg and let himself be wrapped in his father's embrace.

"I am so proud of you, son," Greg said quietly. "You have been so brave through all of this." He was shocked when he felt Dean shake his head.

"No, I haven't, Dad." The words were said so softly that Greg almost didn't hear them.

He held his son at arm's length and looked at him quizzically. "What are you talking about, Dean?"

Tears were in Dean's eyes as he said, "I've not been brave, Dad; I've been scared. Every day since you were shot, I've spent at least some of it crying – worrying that you'll slip back into the coma, that you'll still die. That's not being brave."

Greg smiled tenderly and held Dean's hand. "Son, there was an American General during World War Two who said something about bravery that I think applies here. His name was Omar Bradley, and he said, 'Bravery is the capacity to perform properly even when scared half to death.' Even though you were scared, you still did what was necessary to get through the days. You went to school, you've been keeping your grades up – yes, I'm in touch with your teachers – and you've helped both Marina and me. If that's not bravery, I don't know what is."

He was rewarded with a small smile, and Dean gently laid his head on Greg's shoulder. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered. They sat there for a moment, and then Dean sat up and cleared his throat. "So, it looks like you're ready to go home."

"Oh, Lord, yes!" Greg exclaimed with a laugh. "I am so ready!"

Dean chuckled and stood up. "I assume you need a wheelchair to leave, so I'll go get a nurse."

As he walked out of the room, Marina said, "So, Greg, what's the plan from here on?"

"Well, Doctor Durnin said that I will need to go to physical therapy starting at three times a week. Unfortunately, I'm going to need either you or Dean to drive me. I've already set up the times so that they are in the evenings, and it shouldn't interfere with either his school or your work. After another week or so, I'll get a different brace – one that will allow me to bend my knee some more. As soon as the bone is completely mended, the brace will come off, but that will take months. The dressings on my wounds will have to be changed daily, but Doctor Clark showed me how to do it, and I can take care of that myself. I don't want to demand more of your time than I have to."

"Greg," Marina said with a frown, "don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like taking care of you is a hardship. I love you, and I want to help you as much as I can. As much as you'll let me. I know that you like to be independent, but that's just not possible right now, and I won't let you think that you are a burden."

She said this with such determination that Greg was stunned.

"I'm sorry, Marina, I didn't mean anything like that. I just wanted you to know that there are some things I can do by myself."

Giving him a skeptical look, Marina nodded her head slowly. "All right, but that better be all you meant."

He smiled and pulled her to him. "I promise," he said.

They stayed that way until Dean returned with the nurse and the wheelchair. Greg immediately transferred himself from the bed to the chair with the nurse's help, and Marina chuckled as she picked up his bag and papers. Dean grabbed his walker, and they all moved through the hospital to the parking lot. Along the way, numerous staff members stopped them to shake his hand and wish him good luck. During the weeks he had been there, he had become a very popular patient. The esteem in which he was held among Torontonians, coupled with his pleasant personality, made everyone like him. Finally, however, they made it to Marina's car, and the nurse and Dean helped him into the back so that he could stretch his leg across the seat.

On the way to his apartment, Greg let his head rest against the door of the car, and he closed his eyes. He thought about how he had just lied to Marina. He did feel like a burden, to her and to Dean. He might be able to change his own bandages and go to the bathroom by himself, but there were so many more things he still needed help with. He could walk, but only for short distances and brief moments. He got tired quickly, and he knew that a lot of his time would be spent on the couch or in bed, being waited on by others. His pain had diminished, but it was still there in force at times, and it was then that he simply tried not to move until it was back down to a manageable level. He needed someone to do his shopping, his cleaning, and his driving. Thinking about all the limitations he had, even though he was free from the confines of the hospital, put him in a rather foul mood by the time they reached home.

He didn't speak as he slowly made his way to the door of his apartment building. Sam, his doorman, had a broad smile on his face, though, and Greg could not help but smile back when he held out his hand.

"Sergeant Parker," Sam said, as Greg firmly shook it, "you don't know how glad I am to see you back home. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?"

No matter how many times Greg had told the man to call him by his first name, it made no difference. Sam called everyone by Mr. or Mrs. or their title, if they had one, the only exception being the children.

"Good to see you, Sam," Greg responded, "and thanks." He didn't really mean the last word. Sam's offer just gave him one more person to have to rely on. He kept the smile on his face, though, until he was in the elevator, and then he let it slip. When they reached the third floor, he walked to his door and waited while Dean unlocked it. Then he entered as quickly as he could and gracelessly lowered himself onto a dining room chair. He tried and failed to keep a grimace off of his face. His leg was killing him, and his chest wasn't doing much better.

Marina saw the look and instantly knelt in front of him. "Greg, are you all right? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine," he ground out through clenched teeth. He closed his eyes tightly and took several deep, long breaths.

"Are you sure?" Marina persisted.

"I said I'm fine!" he shouted, his eyes snapping open as anger suddenly flared in him. Dean jumped, and at the distressed look on Marina's face, the anger left as quickly as it had come, and he sighed and reached out to pull her close. "I'm sorry, Marina," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean to shout; I'm just tired, I guess." He knew it was a lame excuse, but she and Dean seemed to accept it.

Marina pulled back from him. "Please, Greg, tell me what you need. I want to help you."

"Me, too, Dad," Dean added.

Greg leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes again. "I really am fine, guys. Just let me rest for a minute, okay?"

"All right, Greg."

He felt Marina stand up, and he heard the doubt in her voice, but he didn't move. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, and then Dean spoke carefully, as if he were afraid of another outburst.

"Dad, are you hungry? I know I am."

Greg opened one eye and looked at his son. He was horrified to see fear on Dean's face, especially since he knew he was the cause. After they were reunited, Greg had promised himself that he would never again give his son reason to fear him, and yet, less than five minutes after getting home, he had done just that. He kicked himself mentally and sat up straight in the chair. Looking directly into Dean's eyes, he said, "Dean, I'm sorry. I truly didn't mean to snap. I'm not mad at you," he looked at Marina, "or at you. I'm mad at my situation. I know you are both just trying to help, and I appreciate it, I really do. I just don't want you to think that you need to hover over me, trying to anticipate my every need. I promise both of you that if I need something, I'll ask. If I don't ask, then, please, do me the favor of not helping, okay?"

They both nodded, but Greg could sense that they were still unsure of his response. Trying to dissipate the stress he had caused, Greg smiled at his son.

"To answer your question, Dean, I am starving. Hospital food might be nutritious, but that's about all that can be said for it. I am really craving a pizza from Big House right now, with double pepperoni, black olives, and mushrooms."

His tactic worked, and Dean chuckled as he pulled out his phone, while Marina smiled and sat down in the chair next to Greg. He reached over with his left hand and pulled her chair so that it was touching his, his chest protesting as he did so, and put his arm around her shoulder. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed as she carefully put her arm around his waist.

"I love you, Greg," she said quietly.

His grip tightened and he laid a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I love you, too, Marina."

* * *

After the best dinner in his life, Greg was absolutely exhausted, and the pain was becoming unbearable. He told Marina and Dean that he was going to bed, and he could see that both of them wanted to ask if he needed help, so he simply gave them a look. They both smiled sheepishly, and he gave Marina a kiss and told her goodbye before slowly making his way to his bedroom. He entered the attached bathroom and locked the door. He took his meds, which were just a massive dose of ibuprofen and melatonin, a natural sleep aid, and slowly stripped off his clothes. His shirt wasn't too much of a problem. He'd had Marina bring a button-down oxford to the hospital the day before, and he simple undid it and let it slide off his arms since raising his arms above his head was still not possible. He smiled slightly, though, as he undid his newly-adapted jeans. Marina had cut the left leg off just below the crotch, slit the remaining part all the way up the side, and then attached snaps so that all he had to do was unsnap them, undo the front button and zipper, and let the pants fall to the floor. She had done the same to two other pairs of jeans and three pairs of sweats, and he was very grateful for her work.

His bandages had been changed at the hospital just before Marina and Dean arrived, so he didn't have to worry about them, but he still stared at himself in the mirror above the sink. There were two bandages on his chest – one on his right side just below his armpit where the bullet had entered, and the other plastered across the front, covering the ten-inch incision the doctors had made when they cracked his chest to repair his artery and lung. Greg gently touched the one on the front and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and made a promise to himself, to his friends, and to his family. He would never forget how close he had come to dying, and he would never take life for granted. No matter how frustrated he was with his situation right now, he was truly glad to be alive, and he needed to remember that.

He awkwardly washed his face and brushed his teeth with his left hand while holding onto the walker with his right, and then he slowly hobbled to his bed. It was not easy, but he managed to get under the covers without help, and he settled into the pillows. Before the shooting, he had never liked sleeping on his back, but for the past two weeks, he'd had no choice and so had gotten used to it. He put his left leg up on a special foam pillow Marina had picked up for him, and he tried to sleep, but he was still awake when Dean opened the door and poked his head in about an hour later. He pretended to be asleep, though, and his son closed the door quietly without saying anything. At that, Greg sighed and gave into the tears that he had been holding in. He flung his left arm over his eyes and quietly sobbed, not wanting to let Dean know he was awake. The last thing he needed at the moment was his son worrying about him and asking questions.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was crying about. He supposed it was a combination of pain, frustration, anger, and even some despair and fear, but it didn't really matter. It felt good to just let go. He didn't know how long it took for the stream of tears to stop or for his breathing to return to normal, but eventually, he just lay there, stared at the ceiling, and waited for sleep to claim him, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside his window.


End file.
